


XX

by littlehands



Category: Alias
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-23
Updated: 2010-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlehands/pseuds/littlehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It doesn't matter that my love couldn't keep her. / The night is shattered and she is not with me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	XX

  
_The night wind turns in the sky and sings._

She always said that water calmed her down, that is was the only thing that let her open up, let her feel. It didn't matter if it was a bath or the ocean, she always was a little more herself around water. That didn't mean that she was always happy, to the contrary, most of the times I saw her in the bath she was crying. And then there was the pier, she cried there too, I remember her sobs, they broke me at the time. I was trying so hard not to look at her, I wanted to at least hold her in my gaze if I could not in my arms. But I couldn't, any little gesture of more then casual contact could have been our downfall.

_Though nights like tonight I held her in my arms.  
I kissed her and kissed her under endless skies._

She was so tiny in my arms at night. She would fold up into a tiny mass of person, she was always cold. She said I was her heater, even thought the nights were not that cold. I once thought why she was so cold is that she was always thinking of death, her life was filled with it. I always pushed this thought aside, always wanted to think that she was just cold, and wanted me to hold her. I held her like a bird, like she could fit in my palm. I'd kiss her, try to warm her lips, her body. She would get warm, but she wouldn't stay warm, she chilled before the night was gone.

_She loved me then, and sometimes I loved her back.  
How could I not love her great still eyes?_

She wasn't the open one in the relationship, I wore my heart on my sleeve, I knew that. But I got good at reading the signs, the little things that she would do so that I knew that she knew. She would look at me from across the room, something that we always did, those stairs that could break glass, that could break hearts. Her eyes could be sharp and focused, or they could be all misted over, like fog on a summer morning. Nothing would get in the way of her eyes, I could see--feel them from anywhere.

_It doesn't matter that my love couldn't keep her.  
The night is shattered and she is not with me._

These days are different, my life has been thrown off. She was my center, for almost two years, my days were full of her. It didn't matter if she was far away, I was still full of her very being. She consumed me, changed me, for good and yet now I think for worse. I sometimes think that she made me the man I am at this moment, alone and morning. I knew I'd loose her, and as much as I pushed the doubts aside at the moments of light in her arms; the darkness comes like a tide, rushing over rock and bone. Some days it feels like I didn't try hard enough, I let her be taken from me. If I had just begged her to quit, or to slow down with the mission, maybe she would still be here. But I know, logically, that she would have never quit, she was part of whatever plan fate had for us, all of us, intertwined in some cosmic web.

_My soul cannot be content, because I have lost her._

Nothing fills me anymore, the more I drink the thirstier I get. I lust for the glass like a pauper to the poor dish, I feel bad until the first taste hits my system and then it's bottom's up. I wonder at night, but I don't leave my house. I roam through memories, only of her, alive and bright. It's after the vodka wears off do I see her as I found her. Nothing can take that away, burned in my eyes. I replay the night in my head but no matter what I do, she's always dead at the end.

_My sight searches for her as though to go with her.  
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me._

And then she isn't dead. She's alive, still beautiful, a man's perfect dream. She looks like her, every bit the perfect image of my haunted nights. She maybe alive, but the woman I knew is still dead, lost to the nebulousness of that isthmus between life and death.. She is different, more then just could happen with the passing of time. Something is different about her, but in truth maybe it's that she doesn't look at me like I look at her.

_Another's. She will be another's. As before I had kissed her.  
Her voice, her pale body. Her endless eyes._

Moving on is so good in theory. It was clear in my mind, the leap that I needed to break free. I would confront it head on, I would jump in the deep end and hope my instinct would keep me afloat. My choice wasn't the best, but she was so different from the images in my mind, I thought that is what I needed. In contrast, what fate thought I needed was my dream world to mesh with reality.

_Surely I no longer love her, but maybe I love her.  
Love is so short; memories last so long._

I've taught myself many things, how to pretend being the most important thing. My face that I put on every morning fits me like a glove. She can sense the cracks like no one else. One look and I start to break. She makes me feel so horrible and wonderful in the same moment. Some days are harder then other, some days I even believe the lies. I live the lies, the ones that are the frame work of the life I have made, stone by stone, for myself. But in the end, what is a wall if there is no mortar, just a pile of rocks, to be carried away until there is nothing but bare earth exposed. The rocks can harm or be used to build something, a path to something wonderful, a path back to her.

_Because through nights like tonight I held her in my arms,  
My soul cannot be content, because I have lost her._

_XX  
Pablo Neuda_


End file.
